Flashes of Gold
by mutantpenguins
Summary: Some people would think that Roy Mustang saw things a little less clearly than everyone else due to his missing eye. They were wrong. Roy/Ed, kind of sad.


This is another of those unplanned babies that Ember keeps having. Rags to Riches keeps telling her to stay away from that music, but she just doesn't listen.

In any case, this is more Ed/Roy goodness, to go with the song "Forever" by Vertical Horizon. It is an amazing song that Ember has tried to match to an amazing pair.

This is a kinda sad ficlet, so if you don't like feeling sad, then don't read it. These two have a lot of sad times. But it's the good times that count, as both would tell you.

Also, there are vague references to activities that most would discourage unmarried people from participating in. Please don't judge us by that… it just happened. Ember has no idea where it came from. In any case, there isn't anything graphic, just… references.

Once again, this involves Roy and Ed. In love. Deal with it. No likey, no read-y. And while it is rather cold right now, flames do nothing to warm us. Only love does. So no flaming.

Anyhow, before the warnings threaten to consume us all…

Flashes of Gold

Roy Mustang had lost an eye, but that did not mean he couldn't see. No, he could see just fine. He just saw things a little differently, that was all. One eye saw nothing, and one eye saw everything.

With his one remaining eye he saw the mundane things that were around him—the walls of his cabin in the middle of nowhere, the fireplace that he never used alchemy to light, the snow outside that isolated him from every other place nearby and made it hard for others to come by. But all of that meant nothing to the man. What really mattered to him was what he saw with the missing eye.

His former teammates who still came to visit would say that he saw the people he had murdered in Ishbal and the people who had continued to die because he did something wrong. That's what he'd told them, anyway. But they had no idea what he really saw with that eye, and he'd rather it remain that way.

He'd rather they didn't know that with that eye he saw flashes of gold.

He saw a golden braid, flying in the wind as its owner fought off yet another demon. He saw the flash of irritated golden eyes as their owner picked yet another fight with him.

Most of all he saw a golden personality, also belonging to the same person. It was the personality of a person who had truly cared for everyone except himself, who had been through enough to break any man and had still been able to live from day to day as if nothing had happened. The only indications of his hard life had been the silver that twined with the gold—automail and his brother's armor—and the nightmares he had occasionally had.

These flashes of gold that he saw meant everything to him. He would give anything for them to actually be with him, so that he could see them clearly with both eyes.

Every conversation he'd had with the golden-haired man played through his mind. Every moment of playful bickering, each honest-to-goodness fight, each and every rare instant of understanding—they were all repeating themselves like broken records.

Every one of them was precious to him. No matter what was said, it was said with a golden voice, one that couldn't lie to save its life. It was kind of funny in a way, actually, the way that voice sounded when it was voicing something the owner knew was false. It told him in an instant what the man was actually thinking.

Most would disagree with him, and say the golden one was such a skilled liar you would never be able to tell what was and wasn't true. But for some reason he had always been able to tell what was on that golden mind. Was it any coincidence that he had fallen in love with the gold he saw around him, then, if he had always been able to read the golden one when no one else could? He thought not.

And the golden-haired man had generally been able to tell when Roy himself had been lying. He would happily try to break through every petty argument they had had, but he would never press onward when he encountered a real barrier, something Roy didn't want to discuss. He would just smile that golden smile of his, that one that said, "You'd better tell me when you think you can," and talk about something else.

Yes, in Roy Mustang's ears flowed sweet golden music, music he longed to hear every day. However, the music was but a faded memory of the pure gold he had once known. He would have to continue to wait for the true gold to return.

And wait he would, because that gold was worth anything and everything to him.

Perhaps his favorites of all the golden memories were those when he and the golden-haired one were actually getting along. Those were rare times, but they did exist. Times when both of them had been able to discard their petty debates for a few moments and actually see eye to eye. In a metaphorical sense, that was—the golden-haired one had always been a little on the short side, despite his many claims to the contrary.

Rarely, they were able to actually speak rationally with each other. On most of these occasions Roy had ended up revealing something he hadn't wanted to. Especially in that blasted conversation about Ishbal. Ironically, a discussion about the worst time in his life was one of his favorite memories. And it was all because of that figure of gold beside him, quietly listening to every word, seeing into his haunted world, accepting it in all its horror.

Still rarer were the times they actually acted like friends. No one they knew had ever seen one of those times—it was probably better that they hadn't. It wouldn't do for anyone on Roy's team to die prematurely of shock.

In any case, it had occasionally happened. Generally the golden-haired one would be wandering around the city and they'd meet up. They'd just wander aimlessly, talking about whatever came to mind.

Most of those conversations didn't really say anything about either of them. However, contrary to his internal priority filter, he remembered every word.

It may be said about Roy that he lived in the past. But it was a golden past, and one he refused to let go of until the reason for his golden past became part of his present once more.

The golden one had been everything to Roy. He had squirmed his kicking and screaming way into his life and settled in permanently. And now that he was gone that place was a void waiting for him to come and fill it again.

Until then Roy just had to keep moving forward. If what he was doing could be called moving forward, anyway. Most wouldn't call it moving in a forward direction. But it was existing, and that was what he could manage. It would have to do.

True life would have to wait until the void was filled and the golden-haired one returned to him.

Most were convinced that wherever he had gone, he was there to stay. Still more were convinced he was dead. It seemed like only Roy knew he was alive, and would someday return. How he knew that, though, remained a mystery even to him. Something told him, though, that the golden one would return. That hope was the only thing that kept him waiting. Some days it was easier than others to hear that voice, which was always the voice of the golden-haired one himself, that said he was coming back.

It was becoming harder every day to hide that a part of him was missing. His trusted friends, who still came to visit on occasion, could tell that something was missing. They knew that Roy was waiting for something or someone. He heard them talking as they left, discussing whether they should bring the one friend they could locate who hadn't come to visit yet.

A pity that they couldn't find the one he really needed to see. But it didn't matter. The golden one would return. They would see each other once more.

Preferably they would see each other many more times after that. But that seemed a little much to hope for. One last time together would mean the world to him, though, and it was something he felt he could wish for.

And so he waited, hoping and wishing, for the golden one.

Every night Roy Mustang dreamed of flashes of gold.

His dreams reflected his best memory, one that he refused to revisit while he was conscious because of the pain it inevitably caused.

He dreamed of the night he had realized how he felt about the golden-haired man, and the golden-haired one had realized the same thing.

He dreamed of golden eyes looking at him with love, of a golden voice calling his name, of golden hair spread across a pillow, of a golden form lying with him.

He dreamed of the one night they had had together before the world tore them apart.

Most would look on such a thing as distasteful. The golden one was too young, they would say. They didn't know that he was far older than they would ever realize, more than old enough to know what he wanted.

They had barely said a word that night, and they certainly hadn't discussed their feelings. It had been one of those times when actions spoke far louder than words ever could. And both of their actions had spoken of a love that could not die, even after the years of separation they had endured.

Some would say that even if the golden one was alive, he had moved on. But Roy knew better. The golden one rarely gave anyone anything, and when he did it was with all of his being. He had been given the golden one's heart, and the golden one still held his.

Waking up, Roy walked outside. A beautiful snow was falling, the white innocence of it almost shining silver in the moonlight.

It was indeed a beautiful scene. But all of that sheer natural beauty was lost on Roy.

It was a beautiful silver, but nothing could match the gold he remembered with his eyes, his ears, his mind, and all of his heart.

He knew without a doubt that he would continue to see flashes of that beautiful, beautiful gold until he died or until the gold found him again.

Joys? Concerns? Confusion? Consternation? Constipation? Share it with us in your REVIEW. (Actually, keep the constipation to yourself. Neither Ember nor Rags to Riches really needs that. But the rest are still more than welcome, even the secret conversation you had with your teddy bear last night. Yes, we know about it. We know all. But we do not read minds, so a review will have to suffice.)

ALSO: Ember has written a happier companion to this. If she gets enough reviews asking for it, she just might post it here once it's all nice and polished and ready to go. But no reviews, no happy companion. That's just how it works.

That's all for now!

Ember and Rags to Riches—the mutant penguins

EDIT: The sequel/happy companion is up, folks! It is in our profile, under the title "Beautiful Darkness"! Go read it? Please? For us?


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